


Fight, flight, fuck.

by videodrome



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Shot, Comeplay, Doggy Style, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Intimidation, Nipple Play, One Shot, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/videodrome/pseuds/videodrome
Summary: Trapper/Survivor, plotless smut one shot.A wordless encounter takes place when an (AFAB, but not gendered) survivor is cornered during a trial.Written with Nea Karlsson in mind as the second person POV, but it could be read as any of the women survivors, or the reader.Dubcon due to uneven power dynamic and lack of clear communication, but both parties are into it. Survivor initiates.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Original Female Character(s), Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Reader, Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	Fight, flight, fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this please let me know, it encourages me to write more! In other words, I need validation to live.
> 
> Apologies if I missed any tags, if needed I’ll add them in.

At the very start of the trial, you nearly blundered into a primed set of steel jaws. Since then you've been creeping along, staying low. Squinting at the darkened shadowy places on the ground and gently brushing away the grass.  
Your friend wasn't so cautious, or maybe just unlucky. Their screams are still ringing in your ears, sacrificed before anyone could reach them.  
One generator. Two exits. Three survivors.  
You're alone now as you tinker with the controls of a generator, kneeling in front of it, hoping the others are keeping the killer distracted and far, far away from you.  
At this point in the trial, you feel the odds of success are teetering on a knife's edge, and you're tense all over.

Suddenly the hair on the back of your neck prickles and you freeze. A raven flutters down and lands on the fence above your head. It stays quiet, watching you pensively. You always try to ignore them, but you hate the birds. It feels like they can see deep inside you, straight into something you can't name but desperately want to hide. Still crouched down in front of the generator, you weigh up the risks for shooing the bird away, or letting it unsettle you as you continue to work, distracted.

You don't notice the heavy footsteps approaching over the grinding of the generator, lost in your thoughts, but instinct jerks your head up and you see him. The Trapper. He's appeared in the gap between some nearby wooden panels, striding purposefully towards you.  
It shocks you how a man of his size can move so fast-in a flash he's covered the distance between you. In a blind panic, you fall on your butt and scoot backwards across the ground.  
You lift yourself up, twisting your body around as you scramble to get to your feet and crack! Slam your forehead straight into a wooden fence. Hard.  
'Ow.'  
You turn back around and slump down into the dirt. You've backed yourself straight into a dead-end corner. Great.

You touch your face; there's a lump forming already. It'll bruise but at least it's not bleeding. Time seems to slow down and you're acutely aware of everything around you. The clanking generator. The buzzing and flickering light above it. That cursed raven watching you smugly. Your heartbeat throbbing in your ears and the lump on your head.  
Your fingers dig into the dry grass and hard, compacted soil.  
You know he's standing over you, now. You're afraid to look up. To see just how close he is. To make it real. But you can smell him. Feel the warmth radiating from his body. He smells like woodsmoke, sweat, and iron, with the sweet hint of sulphur that lingers around everything The Entity touches.

Still rubbing your forehead you gather the courage to lift your gaze. He must be looking at you, but for a moment you aren't sure. His eyeless mask is tilted in your direction but he doesn't move. You assume he's relishing the moment. Feeding on your fear.  
You scramble onto your hands and knees but there's no way you can get through him. If you risk squeezing past, he'll just use that uncanny predatory speed to grab you. He shifts his weight, obviously anticipating you charging at him blindly.  
So you sit back on your heels. Trapped. At least this way you don't have metal teeth jammed into your ankles.  
His chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing and his hand holding the heavy cleaver twitches restlessly. He takes a step forward, then stops. It's only been seconds but it feels like hours. What is he waiting for?  
That determined confidence from before as he moved towards you is gone. It's as if he's a cat who's cornered a bird and is suddenly unsure what to do next. If you'd struggled or tried to run it would have been easy. You, placidly kneeling in front of him like this, staring into the black pits of his mask-eyes, isn't following the script.

Blocked from choosing between fight or flight the adrenaline charging through your system changes track to...something else. Fuck.  
The third option.

Sitting like this your head is just inches from his crotch now, and your face flushes. Could he be…?  
He smells...good. Really good. Looking down at you, breathing heavily, almost panting. The moonlight glistens on his well-muscled arms and broad chest. You've never truly looked at him before now, taken it all in. In this light, the metal piercing his skin looks masochistic. Erotic.  
What seemed like nothing more than filthy work clothes before suddenly looks like an outfit suitable for a fetish club. The dirt and ash add to the tantalising taboo. You realize he must be at least head and shoulders taller than you. Feeling so small is turning you on even more.  
Blood rushes downwards in your body and flushes your face and you ache with desire. Your heartbeat is throbbing in your groin now too. This is so wrong. But. You want him. Bad.

You lick your lips and swallow. This silent stalemate can't last for too much longer and you don't want to miss your chance-before rationality catches up with you. No one needs to know about this. Maybe you'll even make it out alive.  
You aren't doing anything WRONG, though. No. You're just providing a distraction. Helping your friends. Keeping the killer busy while they work on the plan to escape.  
You reach out tentatively. He tenses. You pause, hands splayed and hovering awkwardly in front of his hips. Unsure. Like putting your hands into a bear trap. Dangerous.  
His breathing is getting heavier, faster.  
You bite your lip and slide your gaze across his body. He couldn't be mistaking your intentions now.  
As you let your hands gently rest on his thighs his breath hitches.  
You can tell he's getting hard under the thick, rubbery fabric of his coveralls. You make circles with your thumbs across the join between his thigh and groin and he presses into your touch ever so slightly.  
The danger is thrilling. He has you cornered, but you still have some power, of sorts.  
Emboldened, you massage the palm of your hand against his crotch and he lets out a strained moan. Hands still hanging by his sides, he tilts his head back and you imagine behind the mask, his eyes are closed. There's a fly panel and you unzip it carefully. He's naked underneath, and you gently take out his cock. Your eyes widen. It's thick and solid as the rest of him, but still bigger than you expected, ridged with heavy veins. It's a relief to see the coveralls have protected his skin from the worst of the burns, blood, ash, and unconventional piercings across the rest of his body.  
He's rock hard now, and his cock is straining for your touch. You run your tongue over the tip and he lets out an unguarded whimper.  
You gently cup his balls in your hand and he groans. He leans forward slowly, putting his hands on the wall behind you and above your head, propping his knife on top, safely out of your reach. Although he's towering over you, back against a wall, you're holding his most sensitive parts.  
Exposed. Vulnerable. This hulking monster is at your mercy. Allowed himself to be trapped. Submitting himself to you-just a little. It's obvious he doesn't trust you; he's still a predator, and you're the prey. The mix of power and fear washing over you is exhilarating.  
Feeling emboldened by his implicit permission to take control, you start with licking, kissing and stroking with feather-light touches. You run your tongue along his length and caress his heavy balls with your fingertips.

You can hear his nails scraping against the wood of the fence, grunting softly. You glimpse up at him, but you're not going to be able to see approval on his face. You hold his cock up and run your tongue across the underside of the head, hitting a sensitive spot.  
He flexes his shoulders and tosses his head, snorting. You don't dare push him any further with teasing, afraid he'll snap.  
So you begin to build up a steady rhythm with your lips, bobbing your head up and down on his cock, running your tongue along that sensitive underside.  
You take him into your mouth as deep as you can, stroking the rest with your fist and cupping his balls with your other hand.  
He gently rocks his hips, holding back, allowing you to set the pace. He shudders when your teeth gently graze him by accident-you can't tell if he enjoys the feeling or if it's the threat of danger. You have the power to hurt him if you wanted to.

His head hangs down and you look up at his face occasionally, just in case he's watching you from behind the mask. His hands are clasping the top of the wall to stop his knees from buckling, now.  
You think he must be lost in a trance now, having the world shrunk down to nothing but pure sensation. Hips twitching, toes curling in his boots, losing control to you.  
You're sure he must be nearly ready to come so hard it'll leave him in a daze-giving you the opportunity to sneak away.  
You accidentally graze him with your teeth, hard. Fear floods through you, prickling your skin all over and he reflexively bangs his fist against the wall above your head. The way he thrusts harder into your mouth confirms that he likes it, but you don't want to push your luck. You slow down your pace. You're just being careful. You're buying your friends more time. Not because you want this to last.

But the rest of the world comes rudely crashing back in on you, all too soon.  
The last generator pops and the fields light up. The Trapper howls in a rage. You sputter in surprise as he yanks himself out of your mouth, shoving your head back with one of his massive hands over your face. The delicate balance between you shattered. Your keys to power have been stripped away.

You make a panicked squeak but before you know what's happening he's grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over a nearby crate and onto your stomach.  
He fumbles with your pants, roughly yanking them down around your knees.  
His hands have a vice-like grip on your hips as he steadies himself behind you. You try to relax but you want this so bad your legs are shaking.  
You cry out as he pushes himself in, stretching you roughly. You're dripping wet but he's much bigger than you're used to. You squirm in pleasure and agony, clawing at the wood of the crate. He makes short, shallow, angry thrusts, and frustrated grunts. You assume he's gone half-soft, but it allows you time to adjust. He loosens his bruising grip on your waist and seems to calm down, slowing his pace and deliberately rocking his hips into you. You squirm underneath him, desperate for more.

'Deeper…' you whisper. 'Ah! More!'  
He obliges, thrusting in firmly, stretching and filling you up to the point you're no longer capable of making words.  
He wraps his arms around you, sliding his large hands under your shirt and pulling down your bra, pressing his weight against you. Cupping your breasts in his hands he squeezes your nipples between his fingers. His bare skin feels searing hot against yours and you feel like a tiny doll under his massive bulk.  
His balls slap against you, stimulating your clit, pushing himself all the way in now. You can't hold back anything anymore and cry out in pleasure so loudly all the nearby birds take flight.

He grabs the back of your shirt and hoists it up around your neck and it snags awkwardly on the front of your bra. The friction of your nipples against the fabric is almost overwhelming.  
The bare skin of his chest is hot against your back and you press into it as best you can, hungry for more warmth as the cool night air wicks the sweat off your body.  
You're moaning loudly but all you can hear is him grunting and the wet sounds of friction that turn you on even more. You writhe underneath him and everywhere your skin touches is electrified.

His pumping gets harder and faster and it's utterly overwhelming. Your arms scrabble uselessly by your sides.  
He slides his hand up the back of your neck, across your scalp and grabs a fist full of hair, pulling your head back and exposing your soft, tender throat, totally at his mercy.  
The thumb of his other hand is digging so hard into your hip it will leave a little crescent-moon bruise from his thumbnail later.  
You feel his cock slip out in the desperate frenzy of his thrusting. He ruts against you, sliding between your cheeks. Unable and unwilling to stop now.  
He pulls harder on your hair and roars, grinding hard against you. You feel a gush of hot semen splatter across your back.  
Leaning in close, breathing into your neck he lets go of your hair. He runs his hand up your spine and massages his fluid into your breasts and across your neck and you shiver.  
Pressed against you, his hot breath whispers cooly across your wettened nipples, making you whimper.

The hand on your waist moves around, down across your stomach, deliberate and slow.  
He pushes his thick, rough middle finger down between your thighs. It barely brushes against your clit and you go tumbling over the edge.  
The orgasm hits you like a freight train and you jerk and cry out, spasming and shuddering all over.

He pulls away and the simultaneous feeling of cool relief and emptiness is exquisite. You feel like your body has liquified into a contented mess.

The sound of him shifting behind you, and buckling up his fly starts to bring you back to the present. You aren't thinking about escaping. You aren't thinking about anything at all.  
You begin to realize just how uncomfortable being bent over a wooden crate is, and how sore you'll be for days.  
Without warning, you're picked up and hoisted over his shoulder. You scrabble to pull your pants back up but after what feels like less than second later he dumps you face-first into the ground, filthy and dishevelled.  
'Hey!' you protest, getting up on your hands and knees.  
With a dismissive grunt, he pushes your bare ass with his boot, tipping you back into the dirt.  
By the time you stand up and turn around, he's gone.

You yank up your pants with your back still turned to the gate.  
'What the fuck?!' A voice comes from behind and you spin around.  
The heads of your two friends peer out at you from behind one of the columns lining the exit.  
In a panic, you realize it's obvious it's not just sweat glistening on your collarbones.  
'Um…'  
'We waited for you.'  
'We uh... we heard everything.'


End file.
